


Inherit

by orphan_account



Series: Falling Differently [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It should be impossible to feel compelled simultaneously to run toward and away from the same person, and yet as he stands in her kitchen, that is the exact effect Talia Hale’s presence has on Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inherit

**Author's Note:**

> So, we finally know Mama Stilinski's name. Maybe by the end of the next part of season three, we'll also know the names of Stiles and the sheriff.

It should be impossible to feel compelled simultaneously to run toward and away from the same person, and yet as he stands in her kitchen, that is the exact effect Talia Hale’s presence has on Stiles. There is a maternal warmth that emanates from her every bit as powerfully as her undeniable dominance. Stiles can honestly say that he has never encountered such an alpha, and he firmly believes that he will never meet her equal in his lifetime.  
  
The silence stretches out between them as the alpha watches Stiles implacably, and then something in her softens, and her lips tilt up gently at the corners. “It looks like you’re in the middle of something important. Don’t let me keep you from it.”  
  
“Mm?” Stiles feels his eyes widen as her smile becomes fuller and she glances down at something pointedly. Following her gaze, Stiles catches sight of the bottle still only halfway ready in his hands. “Oh, right, yeah.” Turning back toward the counter, he sets about measuring out the proper amount of formula by rote. After shaking the contents of the bottle together, he walks over to the microwave and sets the time for twenty-five seconds.  
  
Nostalgia washes over him as he moves away from the microwave, remembering how his mother always used to warn him not to stand too close to the radiation. Sadly, all the caution in the world wasn’t able to prevent Claudia Stilinski from withering away in a hospital bed. Stiles watches the bottle as it makes its gradual revolution and he thinks about the year of afternoons and evenings spent by his mother’s side, learning to take her place. Afterwards, his father would take him home, where Stiles would stand for hours at a time under the light of the moon which he knew held sway over many of the people he and his mother were meant to help, trying to use the spark his mother swore lived inside of him.  
  
The very first day Claudia began to share her knowledge, she told Stiles, “It is a gift passed down from our ancestors, and one that we have used to protect the balance of the world for generations. Your spark is the strongest I have ever seen.”  
  
“That’s good, right, momma?” Stiles had asked anxiously.  
  
Claudia smiled. “Yes, sweetheart. That’s good. But you must be careful. Always remember that having such power is a call to protect those who don’t. Your spark is a wonderful thing, but it isn’t a toy for mischief and games. It’s a tool.” She gazed down at her little boy somberly. “Promise me,” she urged.  
  
Sensing how important it was to his mother, for whom Stiles would have done anything, he nodded slowly and said a soft, “I promise.”  
  
Blinking as the the microwave goes off, Stiles realizes that he is in the middle of mouthing the words he spoke so long ago, and he shakes himself. Ignoring the curious weight of Talia’s attention, he moves to take the bottle out of the microwave. It happens just in time, too, because as the plastic door shuts, a tiny mewl of discontentment drifts up from the munchkin still swaddled against his chest. Taking off the cap, Stiles swirls the bottle around to get an idea of the temperature, letting out a sigh of relief. Perfect. As he sticks the nipple in Isaac’s searching mouth, Stiles hears a quiet scraping sound, and he looks over to Talia, who has pulled a chair back from the kitchen table.  
  
“Have a seat.” Her voice is pleasant but firm. As admittedly low as Stiles’s self-preservation instincts happen to be, he still knows better than to question an alpha in her own home, and there is always Isaac’s safety to consider - and Stiles does consider it, ultimately above everything else. He takes the seat.  
  
“Thank you, ma’am.”  
  
She inclines her head and then turns to accept the cup of coffee Derek offers her.  
  
Stiles tries not to startle too visibly, though he knows all three of the werewolves present heard the uptick in his pulse. Until now, Stiles had forgotten that Derek was still in the kitchen with them. He glances up at the beta and catches him looking back. The look in his eyes makes Stiles feel like something has stolen his breath.  
  
For a moment, Derek appears similarly affected. It passes, though, and he clears his throat before asking Stiles if he would like some coffee as well, once he has finished feeding Isaac.  
  
Infinitely grateful for the offer of something to help get his thought processes back on track, Stiles tells him, “That would awesome, thanks.”  
  
“Milk?” Derek asks. “Sugar?”  
  
Resolutely unembarrassed, Stiles requests a lot of both. He grew up drinking the swill at the hospital and the police station; something had to go in to make that stuff palatable, and now he doesn’t know how to drink coffee any other way, no matter how high the quality.  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow, but otherwise declines to comment. Instead, he walks away to pour Stiles his coffee and mix in the requisite sweetener and milk in mildly judgmental silence. After he sets the mug down in front of the young emissary, Derek returns to his breakfast preparations. With his back turned to them, it gives Stiles and Talia at least the illusion of privacy, and Stiles knows that the questions will start soon.  
  
In an effort to delay the inevitable, Stiles looks down, checking his charge’s progress. He still has a little over half the bottle left, meaning he will be fairly happy for a while. Sighing, Stiles looks at Talia where she leans against the wall. Even cupping a mug in her hands and taking the occasional sip, she manages to look regal.  
  
Still, Stiles didn’t bring Isaac all the way here only to chicken out now. He owes it to Isaac, to his late pack, and to his mother to see this through. Holding her gaze evenly, he asks, “What would you like to know first?”


End file.
